2*92 DIANA MALLORY

Hugh Eoughsedge entered the drawing-room where Diana
$at writing letters, paying bills, absorbing herself in all
the details of departure. The meeting between them wag
short. Diana was embarrassed,—above all by the tumult
of suppressed feeling she divined in Eoughsedge. For tbe
first time, she must perforce recognise what hitherto she
had preferred not to see; what now she was determined
not to know. The young soldier, on his side, was stifled
by his own emotions—wrath—-contempt—pity; and by a
maddening desire to wrap this pale stricken creature in
his arms, and so protect her from an abominable world,
But something told him—to his despair—that she had
been in Marsham's arms; had given her heart irre-
vocably ; and that Marsham's wife or no, all was done
and over for him, Hugh Eoughsedge.

Yet surely in time—in time! Tbat was the innei
qlamour of the mind, as he bid her good-bye, after twentj
minutes* disjointed talk, in which, finally, neither darec
to go beyond commonplace. Only at the last, as he helc
her hand, he asked her—

^ I may write to you from Nigeria ? '

Bather shyly, she assented ; adding with a smile—

' But I am a bad letter-writter I'

' You are an angel!' he said hoarsely, lifted her hand
kissed if\ and rushed away.

She was shaken by the scene, and had hardly com
posed herself again to a weary grappling with business
when the front door bell rang once more, and the butle
appeared.

'Mr, Lavery wishes to know, Miss, if you will se<
him/

The Vicar! Diana's heart sank. Must she ? Bu
some deep instinct—some yearning—interfered; and shi
bade him be admitted.

e stopd waiting, dreading some onslaught* pn tb